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Fuck You, Google June 7, 2015

Posted by The Typist in The Narrative, The Spectrum, The Typist, Toulouse Street.
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Of course The Google knows it’s my birthday. It knows Everything. I was fascinated and appaled when I found I could  trace my movements through Europe last year when I relied on GPS and Maps to help me find my way..

So, O Great Google, do you now I now weight 259 pounds? That the medication I have taken to avoid compulsive eating in hypomania has caused me to blow up like a fucking balloon off the party shop stand up tank? That the last anti-depressent I took did the same fucking thing? That I’ve gotten up twice this morning and stood over the garbage can holding the Rouse’s doberge cake, only to put it back in the fridge because P wants to light a candle and sing Happy Birthday in her best Marilyn? That the new meds have not kicked in enough to completely stiffle hypomaniacal, compulsive eating? That the cigarettes I’ve reverted to this past two weeks haven’t helped?

I can live with myself at 235, am much happier at 215 , which is still on the red side of that chart written by doctors who haven’t gotten over their amphetemine addiction from residency. Two fucking sixty is just too much. I was ready to set out for a birthday dinner at one of my favorite restaurnts. P wanted to wear a dressy dress she made last summer so I changed into long pants and and a favorite linen shirt she found for me at Goodwill, and as I began to button it I knew it would not work:I was liable to pop  a button the moment I sat down. The pants, Haggar Cool 18 chinos with a hidden stretchy bit, cut into my stomach.

Off we went, but this was not the happiest birthdy dinner I have ever had: fat, dumb struck and unhappy I still ordered the tamalaes with a crema drizzle, and split a flan for dessert. The flan and tamales at Casa Borrega are too damn good not to eat. I tried, really, but no amount of expensive reposado  was going to improve my mood, flat as a fallen cake  I came home and collapsed into bed in my (binding) boxers  without even bothering to change into my drawstring bed pants. I turned to the wall and waited for the meltonin and herbal concoction to kick in.

So, thanks for the imaginary cakes, Google, but fuck you very much. I’m off to walk to Walgreens (leaving the car behind) to get a pack of cigarettes and browse the patent medicine aisle for a box of whatever berry and green tea pills. I am not ruling out mail order tapeworms.

Comments»

1. sarajacobelli - June 7, 2015

Don’t you remember the book “A Wrinkle in Time”? Google is the all-knowing all-seeing gizmo that rules & runs our lives, dude. (Don’t remember the book? Ah, just Google it.)

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2. Daedalus Lex - June 7, 2015

I like that finale, Mark!

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3. Marco - June 7, 2015

Happy Fucking Birthday!
I tried the tapeworm thing and gained 20 lbs.

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4. Susanna Powers - June 7, 2015

Google forgot to tell me it was your birthday… have a better week, sp

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5. The Typist - June 8, 2015

I just need to learn to eat better. Apparently you can become pre-diabetic from stress in spit of a generally health dit. And al dente pasta is a moderate glycemic index food. Now, I just need to learn to peel my own tomatoes and avoid eating the (invariably sugared) Creole Marinara I could live on. And a thousand other things–good New Orleans-style French Bread, basmati rice under everything–that I dearly love. Fortunately, almost all of the sugars in wine and fine ale is converted to alcohol, so while not exactly dietetic they are not on my banned list. I’ve grown inordinately fond of Campari and cava/prosecco since my jaunt to Europe.

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candice - June 8, 2015

Plenty of good red sauce you can make with no sugar… You may have eaten mine on some meatballs at a blogger party…

Sugar’s mostly a crutch for bad tomatoes anyway.

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6. The Typist - June 8, 2015

And al dente pasta is a moderate glycemic food, one of the best of the starches. Lucky me: stress (anxiety disorder) can trigger a pre-diabetic-like condition even with a good diet. Goody. But hell yes. I need to get that naughty pancetta out of my house. And learn to scald, peel and deseed tomatoes. Or start with canned tomatoes (My sister the foody cringes) with little added salt and no sugar.

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candice - June 8, 2015

Good canned San Marsano type plum tomatoes make excellent sauce. Less water and seeds than the stuff we grow around here.

I think my grandpa used imported canned but he took his sauce recipe to the grave.

Mine: sweat 1/2 chopped onion in olive oil. Some chili flakes. 1 clove garlic smashed, 1 28oz can whole peeled tomatoes. Salt, pepper, parsley, basil or thyme or both. Break the tomatoes, simmer 30-45 mins.

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7. The Typist - June 8, 2015

Now I’m hungry.

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8. The Typist - June 8, 2015

And thanks for sharing.

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9. Marco - June 9, 2015

San Marzano DOCG canned tomatoes are very dear. Look for any canned tomatoes packed in Italia. Another reassuring fact, the San Marzano valley in Italia is one of the most polluted on the planet. The industrial smog is comparable to Bejing. I think that’s why they taste so good.

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candice - June 9, 2015

Agreed. Same varietal different land generally fine. Also some of the organic California ones are good, too.

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10. The Typist - June 10, 2015

Marco, perhaps that’s why our tap water down at the anus of industrial and agricultural America wins taste tests. i will go for Italian tomatoes. I would crushed to miss Creole tomato season when I left for Europe at the peak of the season, not just a varietal but also a question of terrior–they are grown in the parishes adjacent to the mouth of the river; those grown from the state agricultural college’s varietal seed elsewhere just aren’t as good –until I arrived in South Tyrol and tasted my first first tomato. Crisis passed.

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